


Tastes

by Control_Room



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Gen, Hurt No Comfort, maybe comfort later, posted on tumblr, warning: heart loss may occur
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-19 01:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13693728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/pseuds/Control_Room
Summary: Maybe it should have been you/me.





	1. Sour

Scrooge slapped his hands to his bill with a gasp, eyes widening almost comically behind his pince-nez spectacles. The triplets, alongside their joint best friend, Webby, collectively gasped. Even Launchpad stared in shock mouth agape and shoulders slackened, gawking like an idiot. Mrs. Beakley let out a stunned, “well I never!” with her hand by her heart. Quick glances were exchanged between the ducks, then they all waited in anxious silence for Donald's reaction. He had been in the same position from before the comment, hands raised and mid tantrum. He blinked, lowered his foot, put his arms down, and closed his mouth, blinking twice. He seemed to have trouble swallowing.

 

“Donald,” Scrooge swallowed roughly, “no, I didn't mean ta sa-”

 

“Save it Scrooge,” his nephew snapped with a sharp slicing motion with his arm, effectively metaphorically and literally cutting him off. He suddenly dropped his shoulders, exhaling sorely, looking up to the heavens with eyebrows knitting together, sadness emanating. He looked deflated and defeated. “You're right.” 

 

Glances and looks were furiously exchanged, and Scrooge suddenly felt a great pit of fear and despair grow in his gut, the likes of which he hasn't felt in a good many years. Donald couldn't be admitting this, it was just a slip of the tongue, it wasn't meant to be said, no no no….

 

“U-Uncle Donald?” Huey said nervously, looking between his two uncles. Neither seemed to notice his cry for peace. Tears were forming in Donald's blue eyes, blinking rapidly, furiously, to make them stop, failing. “Oh, no.”

 

“You're right Scrooge… as usual,” he quietly mumbled, blinking all the faster, hands trembling by his sides, head dropping ashamedly. Donald rarely expressed shame, thus making this upsetting gesture of bashfulness so much more disconcerting. “It would have been so much better for everyone… the kids would know her better, you'd still have a competent pilot and adventure partner… unlike me. She wouldn't have gone broke every holiday, or lost every job she got. She… she was so much better… than I'll ever be.”

 

He lowered his head, eyes squeezed shut and teeth gritting together, fists forming by his sides. Scrooge took a step forward, hand extended. He gently set it on Donald's shoulder, but his nephew flinched back, eyes snapping open. All Scrooge could see in his eyes was sadness and acceptance. The bad kind. Acceptance that means you've accepted yourself as a…

 

“Sometimes I wish that, too,” Donald hiccuped with a sob and laugh escaping his constricted throat. He took a step back from Scrooge, then another. He turned around and walked to the exit with his head drooping, passing all the kids and staff of Scrooge, then paused by the door, turning to face Scrooge with tears dripping into his feathers. “I wish it was me, not Della, that got lost… then none of you would have to deal with a failure around.”

 

The door closed quietly, but it sounded like a bang. Scrooge’s hand was still raised, resting in the place his nephew once had his shoulder.

 

 

It was raining, genteel pit pats onto the window. Mrs. Beakley poured some hot cocoa for Huey, Dewey, Launchpad and Webby, then gave Louie and Scrooge nice hot cups of coffee. The kids took mini marshmallows and put them in their drinks, even Louie. They all tried to and pretended to ignore the mug of tea sitting untouched and getting cold. It had been nearly fourteen hours since the fight, and no one had seen Donald since. Sure, he may have been temperamental and overprotective, but there was a certain thing endearing about it. Donald was just so… Donald. It wasn't like you could just up and replace him. And while the quietness and rain outside began seeping into the family’s bones, cold and mocking, Louie felt like he wanted to scream, but it lodged in his throats like a pill. So he resorted to glaring at the white marshmallows in his drink, their white foam and white… the white reminded him of feathers, and he closed his eyes, reminiscing nostalgic memories of sitting by a log fire in a house boat, laughing while telling tales of adventure. Were the stories Donald told about Paperink about himself? Or his sister? Dewey noticed his green clad triplet in what seemed like distress. He edged a little closer to him, and wrapped his arm around him. Huey sniffed, suddenly looking like he might cry. He rushed to his brothers, joining the cuddle pile. Webby waddled over shyly, and they opened their arms to let her in. Launchpad scooped them all up, lumping in Scrooge as well into a tight embrace. He surprisingly did not resist, and sighed and relaxed into the hug, gently squeezing back. He didn’t want to admit it, but he missed Donald. He always did, ever since that day ten years ago. These little ducklings were merely twelve. They were two… but it doesn’t matter. Well. it does, but it just makes the wound more painful. Scrooge shut his eyes tightly, regretted ever saying those cursed words, wishing he could delete them from ever being spoken.

 

_ “Well, maybe I wish it had been ye, Donald, ta vanish inta the abyss!” _

 

Why did he say those vicious words, why did he make such a terrible accusation? It was bad enough to even think of those things, but to say in not only in Donald's face, but in front of the boys, Webby, Mrs. Beakley, and Launchpad made it all the so much worse. And to think Donald actual felt that way? It crushed his spirit to know that. He was his nephew, and very nearly a son to him. He practically raised Donald, and he didn't notice or even speak to his practical son. His dear nephew, who he went on so many treasured adventures with, whom he bickered and bothered and argued with, whom he truly and dearly loved as his son and partner in a thrilling adventure known as life.


	2. Salty

The rain tapped softly and rapt on, even on the next day as well, but in all due and respectful honesty, ‘twas a soothing and comforting noise, there in the most benevolent way, as though it sensed their internal struggle. It was a ridiculous idea, but one that could put a jaded smile on Scrooge’s melancholic and fatigued face. Recently everything surrounding his relationship with his nephew was so rickety and stained, overall such a bitter situation. Scrooge looked around the living room, dimly lit by the candles and fireplace. No one was really doing anything. At all. It was a little odd to see a normally lively, bouncy, and energetic family so unusually sedated, forlorn, and lethargic. Even Dewey was relatively still, simply twisting around the little softly pastel colored squares of the Rubik's Cube that Donald had bought for him shortly after he had been diagnosed with ADD. It was such a simple and small gesture, it was easily overlooked at the time, but now that the blue two shirt wearing duckling realized the extraordinary amount of thought and effort his uncle had put into it. He tried his best to find exactly what would fit Dewey - a puzzle challenge with edges and facets to run his fingers over, soft, gentle pastel colors, calming him and making enjoy playing more. He spent time picking out this specific stimulus, it made Dewey smile a little wider when he clicked in another full side. Donald may be brash, but he really, genuinely, absolutely cared about his family. Even Scrooge. In fact, the longer Scrooge thought about it, Donald could act like a jerk, a heck of a lot of the time, too, but he really cared about others. That may have been part of his motivation to join the naval forces. When they, they meaning Scrooge and Della, asked him why he was joining the army, he merely shrugged and let out a laugh, saying he just felt like it, that he wanted to go out to sea for a bit of work, just because, no, not because he wanted to help people, that'd be ridiculous! Yeah, right. He definitely joined the navy to help people. He was an overall softie, but that hid behind a stony, rough, and tempered facade. Maybe he didn't want to be seen as weak? It's a possibly plausible explanation to many of Donald's intriguing and odd personality tics.

  
“Uh… are you alright Mr. McDuck?” Launchpad questioned, benign and blunt at the same time. “You've been staring at Dew-man’s puzzle box for about… sixteen minutes? Yeah… around that amount of time.”

  
“Oh, I'm sure everything will be fine in the end, my boy,” Scrooge tiredly chuckled with a soft smile. Them he cleared his throat to get all the ducks attention, easily gained. “But in all honesty, what are we sitting around here for? Let’s git a game going, ar something teh clear away this pressuring quietness!”

  
Don’t be so hard on them for wanting to play a game. It’s always hard to get your mind off of things, especially in the quiet and the dark, for thoughts swirl in the minds of those who wish thought gone {BEGONE, THOUGHT! [I apologize sincerely]}. And in the dark, those thoughts become dark themselves, and twisted. Pain makes you do many things you didn’t know you could do, and painful thoughts tear from the inside, and makes you emotionless to the pain from the outside, numb and cold. So play a game, and know you did nothing wrong, even as your stomach churns and dark thoughts swirl in your mind, and your hopes may be rejuvenated.

  
After some time of debate on which board game they should play, Monopoly was selected. And as luck would have it, even with everyone joining forces and resources against Scrooge, he still managed to be winning, and by a long shot as well, around two thousand in front of Huey, the runner up.

  
“Like I said to Dewey in Atlantis,” he grinned over his cash in his hand. “Ye got tea work smarta, lads, not harda. Then ye pull ahead of the lot, easily. And swiftly, too.”

  
He rolled, getting a double and landing his top hat piece on Go, collecting his $200 and proceeding to purchase hotels on Boardwalk, rolling again to land on chance, earning one fifty. Louie nervously glanced at his piece, the boot, and it’s precarious position dangerously near the now two thousand dollar spot. He gulped as Scrooge passed him the dice with a grin. He concentrated. The “evil” twin frantically searched through his memory for any advice to avoid the roll. What did Donald always say about luck? Oh, right, ‘luck is something that some people have, but some people don’t, but remember, even if luck doesn’t help, it’ll be good in the end.’ With a sigh, Louie let the dice roll from his hand. A collective gasp and a huff of a laugh from Scrooge told him he had landed on the dreaded Boardwalk. Grumbling, moving his pawn to the designated spot, and reaching into his pocket, he handed Scrooge the two thousand. His property on Illinois Avenue caught his eye. There were four houses… rolling his eyes, he bought the final hotel for $150. He probably wasn’t going to get any revenue from it, but it was worth a shot. He handed the dice to Launchpad, who currently was on free parking as a thimble. He stuck his tongue between his teeth as he shook the dice and rolled. Louie had to do a double take at the dice. Three. Launchpad paled, and counted out the money he had. He was six hundred short, having spent all of his other money on properties. Next Webby fell victim, two spaces behind the pilot. She too was broke. Huey managed to escape with some money, and quickly sold his properties to Louie. Dewey also landed on it, but he had only five dollars. It was pretty funny, actually. Next, Scrooge landed on community chest, and had to pay everyone (who was still in) $50. Louie landed in jail. Huey landed on on one of Louie’s places, and lost all his money. Soon, it was just Louie and Scrooge, the two money grubbers. A crack of lightning suddenly illuminated the room, shaking the core of the house. A door slammed, followed by a familiar, speech impedimented voice complaining about being wet rang through the hall. Donald, in all his sopping wet and sour tempered glory, strode into the living room wringing out his cap. He shook off the water droplets on his feathers, the remainder glistening like pearls and diamonds.

  
“Donald!” Scrooge exclaimed with happiness, jumping out of his chair and running over to his nephew, wrapping his arms around his middle, ignoring the growing wetness on his shirt. But he quickly let go, placing his hands on Donald’s arms, looking at him with a sternly parental gaze. “Where have ye been? The whole lot of us have been worried sick, ye can’t just vanish for a day and a half. You have teh… oh, who am I kidding?” he paused and swallowed, then hugged him tightly again. “I’m so sorry lad, that I said that. I had no right teh, I just wasn’t thinking, and - wait, is that your passport? You’re not leaving, are yeh?”

  
In fact, Scrooge was right about the passport, just barely sticking out of Donald’s pocket. The triplets and Webby {I may start calling them the quadruplets, this is getting ridiculous} ran over to Donald, gripping his arms with the iron power of FAMILY! And muscle. That too.

  
“You can’t leave!” Huey cried to him, tugging his sleeve. “Who’d help me with my junior duck scouting and be by my pin ceremonies?”

  
“And who’s gonna teach me to get out of trouble?” Dewey questioned.

  
“Who’d show me how to use all the boat equipment?” Louie asked.

  
“Who’d give me the first hand knowledge of all your adventures?” Webby inquired.

  
“Wha’?” Donald seemed confused, but realized his passport was poking out of his pocket. He began laughing. “Oh, that! Don’t worry, I already went somewhere, I’m back now. I should probably put this away.”

  
He had another laugh, and walked into the hallway to his room… boat house thing. They glanced at each other, bewildered as to how this happened. A crash from behind them attracted all five of the duck’s attentions. They all turned to see Launchpad trying to leave stealthily, but failing miserably by knocking over an entire suit of armor.

  
“Uh, what are you looking at me like that for?” he asked nervously, a blush spreading on his cheeks. “I definitely didn’t fly Donald to Mexico in one of Mr. McDuck’s high tech experimental supersonic speed jets in ten minutes and come back after promising not to tell anyone that I flew Donald to Mexico in one of Mr. McDuck’s high tech experimental supersonic speed jets in ten minutes!”


End file.
